


12 Going on 21

by Sugarchev



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 13 Going On 30 Fusion, Cringy Dance Moves, Idiots in Love, M/M, Not Beta Read, Yeah you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 23:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugarchev/pseuds/Sugarchev
Summary: Misha is what the kids call “awkward,” and he supposes it’s always been that way.He expects it to start over when he moves to a new school, but the guys on the team-- even the other Russians-- still find ways to gang up on him, always holding his helmet just out of reach and refusing to pass him the puck.He’s pretty much resolved himself to being the loner again, but then some center skates up to help him tape his stick and holds out his hand with a, “Heya, I’m Tony!”...





	12 Going on 21

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verbaeghe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaeghe/gifts).

> Welp, here it is! Thanks for encouraging me to participate in this exchange-- I'm so happy I matched with you. Hope this silly little thing makes you smile!

Misha is what the kids call “awkward,” and he supposes it’s always been that way.

He expects it to start over when he moves to a new school, but the guys on the team-- even the other Russians-- still find ways to gang up on him, always holding his helmet just out of reach and refusing to pass him the puck.

He’s pretty much resolved himself to being the loner again, but then some center skates up to help him tape his stick and holds out his hand with a, “Heya, I’m Tony!” and, really, what nine-year old leads with a handshake?

The kid’s kind of pointy, a bit too long for his limbs and, oh.

Oh! Misha’s not the only one.

“Misha,” he returns, giving Tony a firm shake.

Their hands let go, but they’re inseparable from then on.

//

Three years later, Misha and Tony have established a pretty nice routine. Hockey, PS3. Hockey, movie marathons. Walks around the pond…and, yeah, hockey.

But in those three years, Misha’s done some growing up himself. He’s taller, for one. More notably, his game has improved, so much so he’s finally gained the respect of the other Russians: Evgeni, Ivan and, yes, even the captain, Filip.

When Misha’s with them, he finally feels like he’s “in,” something he never thought possible for himself.

Sure, they tease him about all the time he spends with Tony…but that’s what teammates do, right? They rip on each other, chirp, prod and poke.

It’s a push/pull kinda thing with Misha caught in the middle, but he finds a way to balance both worlds.

And, besides, Misha thinks, running his hand over the latest cover of _Puck Time_ magazine, pros don’t let little things like that get under their skin. It’s all about the game.

“I guess sometimes you just gotta let go of the people holding you back if you wanna move forward and be successful,” Misha reads. It’s a quote from cover boy Tanner Taggard, a 21-year-old rising star who just landed his first NHL gig.

“There comes a time you just have to take a good, hard look at yourself and determine what kind of player you want to be. What kind of person. For me-“

“Hey, Misha!” Tony interrupts, playfully flopping a towel against his face.  
“Oof- I was reading that!” Misha pouts.

“Well read the rest later, everyone’s already headed home!”

Misha looks around the locker room and finds it to be empty. Tony’s usually the last to shower and pack up. Easier that way.

“Hellooooo, space cadet?” Tony laughs. “We going to Husky’s for food or what?”

Misha’s stomach gives an answering growl, and food is a thing that needs to happen now.

//

They take their usual, post-practice route from school, the one that cuts through Pinewood Creek and lets them kill some time in town.

Misha stops in front of Edgerton’s Sporting Goods, sighing at the window. Shiny new sticks, skates and various gear shine on display, but it’s the Apex Predator-brand shoulder pads that really catch Misha’s eye. They’ve been taunting him for weeks.

“You gonna ever get those, or are you just gonna stand there gaping at them every day for the rest of your life?” Tony nods to shoulder pads.

“That’s what the greats use, Tony,” Misha says wistfully. “Like Tanner Taggard. Do you know how many driveways I’d have to shovel to ever afford something like that?”

“Ask your parents for your birthday,” Tony suggests. “It’s only three months away.”

“They said no to what I wanted the last two years,” Misha sighs, kicking a piece of ice off the curb. “And that was the big 1-0, followed by the double 1-1. What makes you think 12 is going to be any different?”

“…Because both of those years you asked for a cat. They said you weren’t responsible enough to take care of one and well, knowing you…let’s just hope cats really do have nine lives.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side!” Misha laughs, giving Tony a playful shove. “I was even gonna pay for the ketchup chips this time!”

“Yeah, cuz I bought them last time!”

“Too late, last one to Husky’s buys today’s and tomorrow’s!” Misha takes off, already hearing Tony gaining on his heels.

//

Misha’s birthday creeps up on him, stealthy as a cat. Which, he most definitely didn’t get again.

But that’s okay, because for the first time, he’s actually having a birthday party. A cool one, complete with Minecraft-themed balloons and party favors.

It’s a small affair, just four guys from the team. The cool Russians, to be exact, and, of course, Tony.

Even though they’ve spent each other’s birthday together for the past three years, Misha had barely convinced Tony to come once the big three had RSVP’d.

_“Tony, this could be huge for you!"_ Misha had said. _“For us. We can finally show them how cool you are!”_

Cut to Tony shyly clinging to his side, and not participating in any talk of the newest Minecraft mods the boys have downloaded, even though Tony’s totally, like, a modding genius.

Whatever, they’re all here now, bellies full of pepperoni pizza and ice cream cake.

“Do you wanna open presents now, Misha?” It’s just about the first complete sentence Tony’s spoken the entire party, and it’s smothered all too quickly by the other boys’ cries of excitement.

“Mine first!” Filip says, shoving a sleekly-wrapped, small rectangle into Misha’s hands.

“No way!” Misha gasps, wrapping paper falling to the floor. “Skyrim?! But, Fil, this just came out last week! There’s no way-“

“I’ve got a huge allowance,” Fillip shrugs. “And this way you can see what all the hype is about.”

“You should definitely make a warrior,” Evgeni says. “The magic stuff is stupid, and so is the story, but you can get a huge sword and cut down anything in your way.”

Misha blushes with happiness, turning to Tony, who’s looking even more timid by the minute.

“Tony-“ Misha starts.

“Mine next!” Ivan insists, holding out a small envelope.

One iTunes gift card and NERF gun later, Tony’s gift finally comes last.

“Wow, nice wrapping job, Anthony,” Filip says, poking at the newspaper-wrapped lump in his hands. “You do that yourself, or did your mom help you?”

“You know his mom didn’t, she’s too embarrassed about not being able to afford actual gift wrap from the 99-cent store,” Ivan laughs. “Well, go on. Let’s see it.”

Tony clears his throat, rapidly blinking as he holds out his gift for Misha. He eagerly smiles despite it all, and Misha’s torn between mortification and telling the others off.

“Um, I-I think you’ll like it,” Tony stammers as Misha begins peeling the paper back. “I know you’ve-“

“Haha!” Evgeni points. “The loser got him a used pair of shoulder pads!”

Misha’s fists clench around the gear in his hands. An “Apex Predator” brand is just barely legible across the scuffed-up plastic and faded foam. Shit.

“I-I know they’re not brand new,” Tony rubs at his neck. “And, well, maybe they’re a little more than used, but I’ve been saving up and happened to find these at the thrift shop. They’re fully durable, for sure, I tested them, and, well, thanks to a little tinkering on my part, they’ll get the job done!”

Tony’s rambling. Oh God, he’s rambling, and digging himself into an even deeper hole if the other guy’s laughter is any indicator.

“Did he just say tinkering?” Ivan snorts.

“Misha, this dude got you freakin’ garbage for your birthday,” Evgeni says. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Misha’s embarrassed. He feels bad, but…everything had been going so well.

“Are you actually gonna let him insult you like that?” Filip scoffs. “Did you forget it was Misha’s birthday and just go digging around the local landfill until you found something that looked like it might be worth a shit?”

“Y-yeah, Tony, did you?” Misha quietly asks.

The utter look of heartbreak in Tony’s eyes makes Misha’s face grow hot. But the others back him up, spewing more insults and mockery.

“Misha, this isn’t you…” Tony says tearfully and, shit, is he gonna cry in front of these guys?

“Shut up, Anthony!” Misha spouts. “These are my friends. My _real_ friends.”

“Misha-“

“You heard him, you scrawny freak,” Filip folds his arms. “I think Misha’s outgrown you.”

“Which is more than you could say for your nose,” Misha says, goaded on. “Good luck ever growing into that!”

That earns a big hoot from the other guys, and he even gets a clap on the back from Filip. Misha doesn’t think about what leaves his mouth next, just goes on and on until Tony finally flees, slamming shut the basement door.

“Later, loser!” Filip calls after him. “Now, come on, Misha. Let’s go fire up Skyrim.”

//

Later that night, Misha’s crying in bed, clutching his copy of Puck Times to his chest. He hates what he did to his best friend, hates that he was put in that situation to begin with and it’s all so much.

He just wanted to fit in. It’s all he’s ever wanted.

“I wish I was like you,” he sobs to Taggard. “I wish I was 21. I wish I was somebody. I wish I had it all figured out. I wish I was like you…”

He mutters it like a mantra until he falls asleep, a single tear rolling off his nose onto the cover, where it dries and smears the page.

//

The first thing Misha notices when he wakes up is that he’s cold.

He instinctively reaches for the patchwork quilt his babushka made, the one that never leaves his bed, and finds instead a cool, cotton duvet.

That’s…huh.

Bleary, Misha fumbles out of bed, shocked again when his bare feet hit not his wooden floor, but some kind of plush carpet.

Misha stumbles through the pitch-black room over to what appears to be a window and peels back the blackout drapes, squinting as a foreign cityscape comes into focus. A decidedly un-Canadian view, given the palm trees and water in the foreground.

“What the-“ Misha clasps his hands around his throat. The deep, unfamiliar rumble of his voice is almost as shocking as the stubble he feels beneath his jaw.

He’s in a hotel room, he half-registers as he flees to the en suite bathroom. The light flips on and Misha’s knees give, making him grip the cold, granite countertop for dear life.

“No way…” Misha says, or at least he sees his reflection say.

It’s definitely him, but where the hell did those cheekbones come from? There’s more of that scruff on his face and holy shit, he’s tall!

A dream. It has to be a dream. The last thing he remembers…the day before his twelfth birthday, right? Tony was helping him decorate the basement, and after they’d crashed from a late-night Minecraft session.

Definitely a dream, Misha thinks, and immediately bumps into the bathroom doorframe as he turns.

“Shit!” He hisses, and maybe-

A phone is ringing, loudly vibrating from the bedside table and oh, he has an iPhone now? iPhones sure look a lot slimmer in this world, but it sure as hell beat his old flip phone.

“Mr. Sergachev?” A voice speaks as soon as he answers.

“Uh, yeah?” Misha’s pretty sure he’ll never get used to this new voice.

“Your transportation is ready. Please be downstairs in five minutes.”

The call ends, and Misha supposes he better get going.

//

To call the next hour of Misha’s life an information overload would be quite the understatement. It’s an onslaught, like a nuke went off in his mind as he’s ushered along and inadvertently brought up to speed.

He finds himself now in a locker room with the freaking Tampa Bay Lightning because, yeah, apparently, he’d just been traded there. Totally fine.

Oh, and according to his paperwork, he’s 21 now, which, you know. Also fine.

Fine, fine, fine, Misha tells himself as he’s introduced to his new teammates one by one. There are some real intimidating-looking dudes here, but each welcome him with a warm smile and firm embrace.

He goes over their names in his head, might as well commit if this is his life now. There was Coburn, Koekkoek, Johnson, and-

“Anthony Cirelli,” a voice interrupts. A deeper, but undeniably familiar one.

Misha freezes, taking in the sight of his best friend. His now very hot best friend. Truthfully, Misha’s always found Tony beautiful, but seeing him like this –all curls and cheekbones and muscle—is something else.

Misha’s elated, overjoyed to finally have a sense of home, something to ground him. He can hardly believe his eyes and, speaking of eyes, Tony’s avoiding his.

Well, maybe he doesn’t recognize him. He does look different now, after all. But…they’re best friends, right? Surely, they kept in touch over the years.

Misha gets a cold, stiff handshake, so unlike the first one they ever shared and oh.

Apparently not.

//

Things don’t look up from there, Misha finds.

Misha tried not to read too much into it at first, but when Tony flat out fled to his car when Misha tried to approach him after that first practice? Well, he wasn’t stupid. Something was up.

And, it continues to be up, what with Tony always ducking out of the lockers as soon as Misha comes in. Tony always manages to keep himself busy talking to the other guys, makes sure they’re never paired up, and it’s driving Misha insane.

But he hasn’t been alone. Two other Russians, a winger, Kuch and goalie, Vasy, have taken him under their wings.

“Will one of you please explain to me what’s up with him?” Misha asks, nodding to where Tony’s laughing with Tyler and Brayden. “Why’s he like that with everyone else but me? He won’t even look at me!”

“You must’ve really done something to piss him off,” Kuch chuckles. “Tony’s great with everybody.”

“I know he’s great,” Misha huffs. “He’s my best friend!”

The other two exchange confused looks.

“Doesn’t look like it to me,” Vasy shrugs. “You know each other before?”

Misha sighs, frustrated. He doesn’t know how he managed to miss the last ten years of his life, and he can’t even reach the one person who might make him feel okay about it.

“We will call him over, help you out,” Kuch offers.

“No, no-“ Misha shakes his head. “Just…forget it.”

This was his best friend, dammit. Something between him and Tony.

//

Much to Misha’s chagrin, Tony sees that everything in the world continues to get between them. Misha’s just about resolved himself to corner Tony against a wall and demand what’s going on, but he’s stopped in his tracks as Tony finally approaches him.

“They said we’re going to be roommates,” Tony says without preamble.

“What?” Misha stupidly asks. He’s watching that one lock that curls just above Tony’s eye and suddenly, it’s hard to think straight.

“On the road,” Tony says, finally, finally, looking up to meet his eyes. Shit. His are rich, dark and breathtaking.

“Cool!” Misha blurts, all but vibrating with excitement. “Cool. I’ve been wanting to talk to you and-“

“I’m sure,” Tony scoffs, hauls his bag over his shoulder and scuffs away.

Well then. At least this will be a chance for them to reconnect.

//

The night before their first game is awkward. Tony’s insisted on secluding himself to his bed, reviewing plays. But Misha can’t stand it anymore. He has to ask.

“Why did…” Misha gestures vaguely, “You recognize me, right? We’re- er, we were? Best friends.”  
The look Tony gives him when he looks up from his iPad is icy enough to prickle Misha’s skin.

“You kidding me?” Tony asks.

“No!” Misha naively presses on. “Best friends, Tony, middle school! We used to hang out every day and-“

“I know what we used to do,” Tony snaps, and Misha can’t understand where this is coming from.

“Well what happened? Why did we…when did we-“

“Uh, your twelfth birthday?” Tony scowls. “Ring any bells?”

“Um…”

“You know, the one where you told me I was ruining your whole party with my gift? Where you told me you were embarrassed to still associate with me and only did because I clung to you like a lost little puppy and you didn’t have the heart to kick me?”

Misha’s mouth fall open. He doesn’t. He can’t remember a thing, but this. This couldn’t be.

“Tony, I-“ Misha steps forward but Tony only further curls in on himself.

“I saved up for months to get you that gear,” Tony spits. “I spent weeks fixing them up for you, but you told me you deserved better than the garbage I got you. Well shit, Misha, I know they weren’t perfect, but I fucking tried. And you and your little pals just couldn’t stop laughing!”

“Tony, that can’t be right,” Misha shakes his head. “I care so much about y-“

“You broke my heart that day and never acted like you cared until you were traded here. You found a new posse, you never apologized, or even tried to fix it. So, excuse ME if I don’t wanna ‘catch up’ with my ole buddy, Misha, and listen to how much he cares!”

Misha’s frozen in place, at a complete loss for words. His chest feels tight and his eyes prickle and threaten to burst. He’s scared. He wants to go home, and he wants his Tony back.

“Whatever, it was a long time ago,” Tony clicks off his iPad, places it on his nightstand. “And now you’re here, and we have to play together. I can be a good teammate. But you don’t have to pretend you like me off the ice.”

“Tony, please-“

“Goodnight, Misha,” Tony says, and turns off the lamp.

//

“Gotta show him how much you care,” Vasy says the night after their second win on the road. The team’s out celebrating on some rooftop bar in Toronto, and Misha’s posted up with his usual safety net of Vasy and Kuch. He thinks he catches Tony eyeing them once or twice, and can’t help but feel like he’s back at it again with Ivan, Evgeni and Filip.

Kuch and Vasy are nothing like them, of course, but Misha can almost catch a glimpse of that same, longing stare Tony used to give him. It’s gone in an instant when Yanni heads over to Tony’s group with an armful of shots.

“You hear him?” Kuch asks, nudging Misha with his elbow.

“Uh, huh, yeah,” Misha says, swirling the tiny black straw around his untouched vodka. Even drinking isn’t appealing and should, like, totally be one of those cool “adult” things he should be excited to try. “But he said he didn’t want to hear about it.”

“That’s why Vasy said show him,” Kuch says. “Do something nice for him. Compliment his play. The kid’s full of himself that way.”

Misha laughs. Some things never change.

//

Operation Win Tony Back is ago.

The night of their last road game is another win, thanks to a last-minute assist by Tony to Alex, and the team pours out to surround the two. Tony even smiled at him when Misha clapped their helmets together and, good Lord, did his heart almost stop right there.

It nearly does again, as Tony makes his way out of the bathroom in his nightshirt and boxers. But Misha turns that part of his brain off because he has a mission, dammit!

“Hey,” Misha says, watching Tony flop down on the couch.

“Yeah?”

Misha musters all of his courage, going to sit beside Tony. Tony looks as if he’s about to flee, but stops when he sees what’s in Misha’s hands.

“Thought you deserved a little something for a game well-played,” Misha grins, offering the bag of ketchup chips he’d snagged in Toronto.

“Oh, that’s-“ But Misha is already popping them open, shoving them into Tony’s lap.

“C’mon!” Misha laughs. “One little snack. I know you can’t resistttttt.”

Tony’s smile is undeniable, if not a bit reserved, as he digs into the bag. He looks cautious, like a stray dog weary of accepting a treat, and it absolutely guts Misha.

He really did break Tony. Misha can’t change that, but he can spend the rest of this life making it up to him.

After a few chips, Tony offers the bag, and Misha gleefully munches down a few. For a second, it’s almost like it used to be: comfortable silence, save for the crunching of chips.

“You really were on fire tonight,” Misha says. “Game-winning goal and you almost had another in the first period.”

“Ah, well,” Tony rubs at his neck and some brief, hazy memory flashes through Misha’s head like lightning and is gone.

“Really,” Misha insists. “You’ve always been great, but seeing you on the ice tonight? You really shone.”

“Pfff,” Tony blows out a puff of air, momentarily puffing up the curls at his forehead. “Well you and Heddy seem to have a good thing going, too. Really kept them off us tonight.”

“You think so?” Misha grins like the idiot he is.

But then Tony seems to catch himself, slides off the couch and the moment passes.

Misha at least gets a “Goodnight,” and calls it another win for now.

Baby steps.

//

It’s a good thing Misha stocked up on all those chips.

Misha leaves them in Tony’s locker after every game, and even when they lose, it never fails to bring back that thousand-watt smile.

The other guys have begun to take notice, too, practically pushing the pair together whenever they go out, and quickly pairing up during team workouts so Misha and Tony are forced to spot each other. Not that Misha’s complaining,

Conversation comes easily between them now. It’s nowhere near where it used to be, but the door’s at least open.

Tyler seems especially keen to bust it right open when he invites Misha over to monthly movie night and leaves the two a little loveseat adjacent to his couch.

Tony sets a bowl of popcorn between them like a barrier and Misha respects it, watching as Tyler flips through his queue.

“Oh, go back, go back!” Misha points.

“To what?” Tyler asks, snuggled up to Pally with the remote.

“Scott Pilgrim!” Misha grins. “Tony, that’s our movie!”

The rest of the gang goes quiet and Tony flushes red.

“Um-“ Tony clears his throat.

“Awww, Tones!” Tyler smirks. “We gotta watch it if it’s your movie.”

“It is!” Misha goes on, unfazed. “We know all the words! Uh, we did, I mean. You still remember, right Tony?”

“Guess we’ll see!” Brayden says, quickly snatching the remote and pressing play.

The first few lines Misha recites go on unanswered by Tony, but the rest of the guys at least have the decency to melt back into their own little couplings and enjoy the film.

“You made me swallow my gum…” Misha begins, a villain’s one-liner that never failed to get Tony laughing.

“...that’s going to be in my digestive tract for years!” Tony whispers back, sneaking a quick, rosy glance at Misha.

The warmth of it blossoms through Misha’s chest, and it’s like he’s home again. Fuck, he misses it. Misses him.

Misha blinks back tears of happiness and regret and continues on with him, a quiet exchange of shared memories to make a new one.

By the time the second movie comes on, some awful b-horror slasher, the popcorn bowl quits the couch. Tony dozes off first (like he always has) and when his head rolls over to Misha’s shoulder, Misha is content to never move again.

//

“I still don’t understand this,” Misha huffs, lowering his controller after dying to Kuch for the umpteenth time in this new game, Fortnite. Minecraft was so much simpler. It’s still around, apparently, but, like, so not “in” for adults, according to Tyler.

“And the dances are stupid,” Misha says, watching Kuch’s avatar do some weird move with its hips and arms to celebrate his victory.

“Tony doesn’t think so,” Tyler says, an impish glint in his eye.

“What, really?” Misha asks.

“Yeah, he loves them. Especially that one. It’s called _flossing_.”

“Tyler-“ Kuch warns.

“No, no, hear me out!” Tyler insists. “If you did that for him in real life, he’d totally be charmed. He wouldn’t be able to resist you!”

“I’m going home,” Kuch sighs, apparently not here for this.

“I don’t know…” Misha skeptically watches the screen.

“Believe me, it’d drive him mad. You guys are so chummy now, and you’re rooming together again next week, right? Bust this out, and he’ll be so impressed.”

“It looks kinda-“

“It’s easy, c’mon!” Tyler pulls Misha up from the couch.

It’s about an hour before Misha finally gets it, or at least gains Tyler’s approval. The motion comes easy now, a jerky sway of his hips and arms.

“Oh yeah,” Tyler grins. “You’re ready.”

//

The first night is a loss, and Tony’s in one of his Moods.

He’s sprawled out over his bed, absorbing every little mistake from his iPad, and Misha decides it’s now or never.

“Hey, Tony,” he says, walking to the end of the bed.

“Just a sec, Misha,” Tony says, not taking his eyes off the screen.  
“No, now,” Misha urges, and when Tony looks up, his hips let loose.

There’s no music, which Misha totally meant to play, but he’s nervous, okay? There’s no stopping now, and Tony’s utter look of confusion just spurs him on.

“Well?” He asks, a bit out of breath as he continues to twist his arms.

“Misha...” Tony holds up his hands, lips twitching with the smile his broody self apparently wants to hold back. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Flossing!” Misha says, deciding to change gears and to a reverse motion. “What’s it look like?”

“No, I- I see that,” the grin breaks through, as well as a few giggles. “But why?”

“Cheer you up,” Misha offers, taking a deep breath. “There’s supposed to be music. But, Tyler told me you liked this kind of thing so…”

Tony shakes his head, raising to still Misha’s arms.

“Misha,” he smiles, gently squeezing his hands. “Please stop.”

“You don’t like it?” Misha asks, face falling.

“Um…you’re very good. But Tyler was being an ass. He told you to do this for me, right?”

Misha nods. “He said if I learned it for you it would prove to you how much I like you. And-“

“Misha,” Tony cups his face. “I promise you, you don’t need to do all that.”

“But I do!” Misha looks at him earnestly. “Like you. So much, Tony.”

Misha reaches his hand up to cover Tony’s. He leans in and-

“You-” Tony pulls back. “But, I’m ugly and awkward!”

“What?” Misha blinks.

“You told me good luck growing into my nose. You told me my smile looked stupid and that I was the worst, and-“

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Misha breathes. “Always have been.”

Tony’s big, brown eyes glisten before he squeezes them shut.

“I’m sorry, Misha, but I can’t do this again,” Tony shakily inhales. “You can’t just show up ten years later and say things like that. Not after you tossed me out like yesterday’s trash and never looked back.”

“Tony-“

“I’m going to sleep somewhere else tonight. We’ll go back to the way things were tomorrow, and it’ll be fine.”

“It won’t be fine, Tony! I lo-“

“Please,” Tony stops him, and pushes right by him out the door.

//

The next few days brings them back to Canada, and Misha uses his day off to take a train back to his hometown. He tries not to think about how much it’s changed, how Husky’s has been demolished and how Edgerton’s is now a vape emporium.

It’s all so much, and he just needs to be home.

His parents aren’t there, but the window to his room is unlocked, and he slides in with a practiced ease from the thousands of times he’d snuck out to meet Tony at the pond.

Shit, it’s different in here. He doesn’t recognize the person these things belong to, the teen smiling up at him in the pictures pinned above his desk. Misha sinks down to the floor and leans his back against his bed, eyeing the stack of magazines beneath his nightstand.

_Puck Times_, of course, at least he kept up with his favorite publication. He rifles through the pile until he lands on an old, smudged copy.

Tanner Taggard, now there’s a name he-

_I wish I was like you. I wish I was 21. I wish I was somebody. I wish I had it all figured out. I wish I was like you…_

Memories crash through Misha like thunder and he nearly trips getting to his feet and bolting to the basement.

“Come on, come on,” he desperately pleads, digging through piles of old scarves and family photos. On the very back of the shelf, shoved as far back as could be, he finds them.

Misha can’t get back to the train station fast enough.

//

It’s almost midnight when Misha bursts into his and Tony’s room, old shoulder pads stashed safely beneath his arm.

“Jesus!” Tony jolts, sitting up in bed. “Make a little more noise why don’t y-“

“Tony!” Misha flips on the light and bends over, gasping for breath. “Tony, Tony, Tony, look. Look, I!”

Misha takes a huge breath in, holding up the old gift for Tony to see.

“Um. Okay. Why-“

“I kept them,” Misha pants, forcing himself to stand. “I kept them, Tony. I remember everything. I cried myself to sleep that night for what I did to you and I-I can’t account for the rest, it’s a long story but that’s not-“

Misha forces his breathing steady, crossing over to Tony’s bedside.

“Even though I was a total asshole and I don’t deserve you, I care. I’m the fucking worst, I’m an idiot, but I care about you Tony, and always have. I could kick my own ass for never making it right, but I gotta try. A-and I get it, I don’t expect you to feel the same anymore after what I did but I need you to know I’m sorry. I need you to know you’re my best friend, I love you, and I’m so sorry I, mmph-”

Misha intends to prattle one but Tony’s lips are on his, swift, soft and shutting him right up.

He lets Tony pull him down into a warm embrace, relishes the security that comes of being in his arms.

“I love you too, you total idiot asshole,” Tony smiles against his lips. “And you really are the worst.”

“I know,” Misha says, closing his eyes as he melts into another kiss.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Haha!” Misha hears, and opens his eyes. “This loser got him a used pair of shoulder pads!”

Misha looks down to find his hands, his twelve-year-old hands, clutching that beautiful piece of Apex Predator gear.

“I-I know they’re not brand new.” He looks up to see Tony rubbing at his neck. His beautiful, perfect best friend in the world.  
“And, well, maybe they’re a little more than used, but I’ve been saving up and happened to find these at the thrift shop. They’re fully durable, for sure, I tested them, and, well, thanks to a little tinkering on my part, they’ll get the job do-”

Misha doesn’t think twice before closing the gap between them, wrapping Tony up in his arms.

“Thank you,” he sighs, holding Tony close. “This is the best gift I could ask for.”

Now, and forever, Tony really is.


End file.
